Haru Ichiban

A little over two years ago I arrived in Tokyo in the middle of winter. I thought the scant dusting of snow in the neighborhood where I lived in Chiba was cute, but was glad the streets of Tokyo where I worked and walked and rode the trains were clear, if a little damp. The next year was the same again. I was now living in the city, and just once outside my apartment window I was able to catch sight of the large white flakes shimmying down to earth only to dissolve as soon as they hit the pavement. All the old folks grumbled again about global warming and how Tokyo used to be all white this time of year.

Well, maybe the "cool biz" campaign finally kicked in, or maybe some of the department stores in Tokyo stopped cranking up the AC and then leaving the doors open, because this year the snow gods really let loose on Tokyo.

It started with some awful days, where the temperature was below freezing and the sky was so grey and mottled that 2pm felt like twilight. It was depressing just to be outdoors. Then, it got almost imperceptably warmer, and all the old folks smiled knowingly. The great flakes fell consistenly for about a week, piling up on the sidewalks, gettings shoveled away by old ladies in plastic boots, melting a little, and then piling up again. Reactions were mixed; some enjoyed the romance of it, some grumbled at the slower trains and slippery road, and many, including myself, went into hiding. Tokyo is a great city, but not a one to be trudged around in the cold. I hibernated.

Feeling apologetic, the weather gods then relented and treated us to two weeks of blue skies and full-on sunshine. Don't get me wrong, it was still cold, but  if you stood in the sun long enough you almost didn't need those gloves, or to wrap your scarf up quite so tightly. When I saw the first pink and white petals creep out of the plum blossom trees, I knew something was coming.

Saturday morning was so warm you almost wanted to unbutton your jacket. Not because you had to, but just cause you could stand the thought of it. Okay, we were getting cocky.  But then, at around 1pm, the wind started, and still hasn't let up.

This is bone freezing, building whistling, train stopping, dust storming, blowing little old ladies a few inches back on the side walk, ridiculous wind. The Japanese call it Haruichiban, the first wind of Spring.

I first experienced the Haruichiban two years ago, when I was working for a small Japanese company in Nihonbashi, and the wind shoving itself between buildings had ruffled my skirt and made a mess out of my hair one too many times. "What's with this damn wind?" I asked my co-workers, in my then faltering Japanese. They explained Haruichiban to me, and added that the "building wind" downtown where all the skyscrapers were only made things worse. I taunted them a little bit for speaking a language that named winds, but felt in a much better humor knowing that the breeze wasn't just blustering, but blowing in a new season, one of festivals, cherry blossoms, and longer, warmer, more perfect days. Even today the crowds cooling their heels at Tokyo station waiting for the Shinkansen to get back up and running didn't seem too pissed off about it. We're all sick of the cold, and are ready for something new again.